The Briefcase

by Hiromi Kawakami

  But I had gone and said it. Because I wasn’t a grown-up. I never would be, not like Kojima. Sensei, I love you, I repeated one more time, as if to be doubly sure. Sensei just stared at me with astonishment.

  THUNDER RUMBLED OFF in the distance. After a little while, there was a flash of light among the clouds. It must have been lightning. A few seconds later, thunder could be heard again.

  “This strange weather must be a result of the strange thing you said, Tsukiko,” Sensei murmured, leaning forward from the veranda.

  It wasn’t strange, I retorted. Sensei gave a wry smile.

  “It looks like we’ll have a bit of a storm.” Sensei put up the rain shutters with a loud clatter. They didn’t slide very well. He also closed the doors. The lightning was flashing wildly, and the thunder was growing near.

  Sensei, I’m scared, I said, going to his side.

  “There’s nothing to be scared of. It’s merely an electrical discharge phenomenon,” Sensei replied quite calmly while trying to avoid my encroachment. I scooted closer to him.

  The truth is, I’m very frightened of thunder. I’m not trying to make something happen between us, really, this is just about being scared, I said through clenched teeth. The thunderstorm was already quite intense, lightning flashes followed the next moment by rumbling thunder. And it had started to rain—the sound of it driving against the rain shutters was loud.

  “Tsukiko?” Sensei peered at me. I was sitting beside him, stiff as a board, with both hands over my ears.

  “You really are terrified, aren’t you?”

  I nodded silently. Sensei stared at me solemnly, and then he began to laugh.

  “My dear, you are a strange young lady,” he said, laughing gleefully.

  Come over here, let me hold you. Sensei drew me close. He smelled like alcohol. The sweet smell of saké wafted from Sensei’s chest. Still sitting on his heels, he laid my torso across his knees and embraced me tightly.

  Sensei, I said, in a voice that sounded like a sigh.

  Tsukiko, he replied. His voice was extremely clear; he sounded very much like himself. Children think the strangest things, don’t they? Because anyone who is afraid of thunder is nothing more than a child.

  Sensei laughed loudly. His laughter reverberated with the rumbling thunder.

  Sensei, I meant it when I said I love you. I spoke these words as I lay atop Sensei’s knees, but he didn’t hear me at all—my words were lost amid the thunder and Sensei’s booming laughter.

  The thunderstorm grew more and more intense. The rain beat down in torrents. Sensei was laughing. And here I was, bewildered, lying across Sensei’s knees. What would Kojima say, if he could see us now?

  It was all somehow absurd. Me declaring my love for Sensei to his face, Sensei taking it rather completely in stride yet without responding to my declaration, the sudden outbreak of the thunderstorm, the increasingly oppressive humidity in the room now that the rain shutters were closed—everything seemed like it was part of a dream.

  Sensei, am I dreaming? I asked.

  It sure seems like it, doesn’t it? he replied merrily.

  If this is a dream, when will I wake up?

  Hmm, I can’t say.

  I wish I didn’t have to wake up.

  But if this is a dream, then we must wake up sometime.

  A huge crack of resounding thunder immediately followed a bolt of lightning, and my body stiffened. Sensei rubbed my back.

  I don’t want to wake up, I said again.

  That’s fine, Sensei replied.

  The rain beat down hard on the roof. I kept my body rigid atop Sensei’s knees as Sensei calmly rubbed my back.

  The Island, Part 1

  AND SO IT was that, after all, I found myself here.

  Sensei’s briefcase sat in a corner of the room. The same briefcase he always carried.

  “All of your things fit into that briefcase?” I had asked him while we were en route on the train. Sensei nodded.

  “This briefcase is more than big enough for two days’ change of clothes.”

  I see, I said. Sensei’s hands lightly held the briefcase on his knees as he gave himself over to the rocking of the train. Both Sensei and the briefcase swayed back and forth in short, quick motions.

  We rode the train together, we took the ferry together, we climbed the hill on the island together, and we came to this small guesthouse together.

  Had Sensei given in and decided to go on a trip because of all my pleading that night—the night of the thunderstorm that heralded the rainy season? Or had he made up his mind about it, had a sudden change of heart, sometime after the storm had passed, while he lay quietly in the room next to where I too lay quietly alone on the extra bedding that Sensei had carefully spread out for me? Or was it that, for no particular reason and without any motivation, Sensei was seized with an urge to travel all of a sudden?

  “Tsukiko, would you like to go to an island with me next Saturday and Sunday?” Sensei had said out of the blue. We were on our way home from Satoru’s place. The street was wet from the ongoing rain. Several puddles of water caught the reflection of the streetlights and they seemed to glow white in the night. Sensei didn’t bother trying to avoid walking in the puddles; he just kept going steadily ahead. I tried to sidestep them one by one, and so I weaved randomly this way and that, as opposed to Sensei’s swift progress.

  “Huh?” I responded.

  “Didn’t you suggest that we go on an excursion the other night?”

  “An excursion?” I repeated Sensei’s words like an idiot.

  “There’s an island that I’ve visited from time to time in the past.”

  Sensei mentioned that he had often traveled to this island. For some kind of reason, he muttered.

  What was the reason? I asked, but Sensei did not reply. Instead he quickened his step.

  “If you’re busy, Tsukiko, I will go on my own.”

  “I’ll go, I’ll go,” I replied hurriedly.

  And so it was that here I found myself.

  On the island where Sensei had traveled “for some kind of reason.” At a small guesthouse. Sensei carried his same briefcase, and I carried a brand-new suitcase I had bought for the occasion. The two of us. Together. To be sure, we had separate rooms. Sensei had strongly suggested that I take a room with a view of the sea, while he took a room facing the island’s interior hillside.

  No sooner had I deposited my luggage in the alcove of my seaside room than I was knocking on Sensei’s door. Knock-knock. It’s your mother. Open the door, dear little goats. I am not the wolf. Look how white my paw is.

  Sensei simply opened the door, without bothering to look at my paw first.

  “Would you like some tea?” Sensei grinned as he invited me in. I grinned back.

  Sensei’s room seemed slightly smaller than mine, even though it was the same six-mat size. Perhaps because the window looked out on the mountain.

  “Why don’t we go to my room? The view of the sea is lovely,” I said, but Sensei shook his head.

  “A man mustn’t barge into a lady’s room.”

  I see, I replied. You may barge in, if you like, I was about to add, but I didn’t think that Sensei would find that amusing, so I stopped myself.

  I could not imagine what Sensei had in mind when he invited me on this trip. His face had betrayed nothing when I agreed to go along with him, and on the train he had been exactly the same Sensei as always. Even here, now, sipping tea, his manner was no different from at Satoru’s place when the counter was full and we ended up sitting across from each other at a small table.

  Yet still, here we were, the two of us.

  “Would you like another cup of tea?” I asked cheerfully.

  “I would indeed, please,” Sensei replied. Even more jauntily, I refilled the teapot with hot water. I could hear seagulls crying out from the mountainside. The seagulls’ calls sounded rambunctious and rowdy. They seemed to be flying back and forth and all around the island during
this hour of evening calm.

  “ WE’LL MAKE A round,” Sensei said as he stood in the guesthouse’s foyer putting on his shoes. When I went to put on a pair of sandals that had the name of the guesthouse written in marker, Sensei paused.

  “This island is surprisingly hilly, with rough terrain,” he said, pointing to my shoes that were placed neatly in the shoe cupboard. They had just the slightest heel. When I wore them, the top of my head reached Sensei’s eyes.

  “But my shoes aren’t fit for walking hills,” I replied, and Sensei frowned faintly. So faintly that no one else would have noticed. However, now even the subtlest changes in Sensei’s facial expressions did not escape me.

  “Sensei, please don’t make that face.”

  “What face?”

  “Like you’ve seen something that bothers you.”

  “There’s nothing in particular bothering me, Tsukiko.”

  “Something’s bothering you.”

  “That’s not the case.”

  “No, no matter what anyone else says, I think there’s something bothering you!”

  It had devolved into a silly argument. I slipped on a pair of the guesthouse sandals and followed after Sensei. Empty-handed, Sensei wore a vest, his posture stick-straight as he walked along slowly.

  The evening calm had passed and a light breeze had begun to blow. There were cumulonimbus clouds along the horizon on the beach. The sun, about to set into the sea, bathed all of the clouds in a pink light.

  “How long does it take to circle the island?” I asked, out of breath from the hill. Just like that time we went mushroom hunting with Satoru and Toru, Sensei was not the least bit winded. He climbed the island’s steep slopes without any difficulty.

  “At a quick pace, about an hour.”

  “At a quick pace?”

  “At Tsukiko’s pace, it would probably take about three hours.”

  “Three hours?”

  “You ought to exercise more, Tsukiko.”

  Sensei just kept steadily walking along. I gave up trying to keep in step with him, stopping midway up the hill to look at the sea. The setting sun was getting closer to the water. The cumulonimbus clouds were deepening to a flaming vermilion. I wondered where we were. What the hell was I doing here, on a hillside in some strange fishing town, surrounded by the sea? Sensei’s figure up ahead of me grew more distant. His back seemed somehow cold and remote. Despite the fact that we had come on this trip together—even if it was only a two-day trip—I felt as if the person moving steadily away from me, Sensei, was a stranger.

  “Don’t worry, Tsukiko,” Sensei turned around to face me.

  Huh? I said from down below on the slope. Sensei gave a little wave of his hand.

  “It’s only a little bit farther from the top of this hill.”

  Is the island really that small? Climbing this hill puts us all the way around the island? I asked. Sensei waved his hand again.

  “Tsukiko, don’t be absurd. How could that possibly be?”

  “But you said . . .”

  “We couldn’t make it all the way around with someone as out-of-shape as you along, and wearing those sandals, no less.”

  He was still stuck on the sandals. Hurry up! Don’t just stand there! Sensei hastened me along as I held my head high.

  “Where the hell are we going anyway?”

  “Stop grumbling now, and come up here.”

  Sensei had swiftly climbed the slope. The last part of it was even steeper, as it circled around the hill. I could no longer see Sensei. Hastily I slid my feet farther into the sandals and followed after him. Sensei, please wait for me. I’m on my way. I’m coming now, I said as I followed him.

  When I reached the top of the slope, I found myself at the summit. It was spacious and wide open. There were tall, dense trees along the path that continued up from the slope. Several houses were nestled among the trees, forming a hamlet. Each home was bordered by small plots in which cucumbers and tomatoes were being grown. Beside the fields were chicken coops, and I could hear the serene sound of clucking from beyond the rough chicken wire.

  Past the hamlet, there was a small marsh. Perhaps because it was getting dark around us, the marsh was immersed in a deep green. Sensei was standing alongside, waiting for me.

  “Tsukiko, this way.” Backlit by the setting sun, his face and figure looked pitch-black. I couldn’t see Sensei’s expression at all. I walked over by his side, dragging my feet in the sandals.

  The marsh was covered with duckweed and water hyacinths and the like. Dozens of water striders were skimming lightly along its surface. Now that I was standing next to Sensei, I could make out his face. His mien was placid, like the surface of the marsh.

  “Shall we go on?” Sensei said as he stepped forward. It was a little marsh. The road circled all the way around it, now with a slight descent. Instead of tall trees, it was bordered with more shrubs. The road narrowed, the paving patchy in places.

  “We’re here.” It was now virtually unpaved, just bare ground. Sensei went along the dirt road slowly. I followed him, my sandals making a pitter-patter.

  A small cemetery appeared before us.

  THE GRAVESTONES NEAR the entrance were tidily maintained but, further inside, the spindle-shaped tombstones and mossy ancient-looking graves were overgrown with weeds. Trampling the knee-high grasses, Sensei proceeded farther into the graveyard.

  “Sensei, how far are you going?” I called after him. Sensei turned back and smiled. An extremely kind smile.

  “It’s not far. Look, here it is,” Sensei said, as he crouched before a small gravestone. This one was not quite as moss-covered as the other old graves near it, but still, the small marker was swathed in a damp green. There was a chipped bowl in front of it, about half-full of what must have been rainwater. A horsefly buzzed about, flitting around Sensei’s and my head.

  Still crouching, Sensei joined his hands in prayer. He closed his eyes, praying earnestly. The horsefly alighted alternately on me and on Sensei. Each time it landed on me, I shooed it away, but Sensei kept on praying, seemingly unbothered.

  After a while, Sensei unclasped his joined palms and stood up. He looked at me.

  “Is this a relative’s grave?” I asked.

  “I’m not sure if I would say a relative,” Sensei replied ambiguously.

  The horsefly landed on top of Sensei’s head. This time he seemed to notice, and he swatted at his head. As if surprised, the horsefly flew off in retreat.

  “It’s my wife’s grave.”

  Huh? I swallowed my surprise. Sensei smiled again. That extremely kind smile.

  “She died on this island.”

  After she ran away from her home with Sensei, she ended up in the village on the mainland where we took the ferry to this island, Sensei explained in a detached tone. She had soon broken up with the man with whom she fled, and there were several others, but Sensei’s wife settled down with the last man with whom she lived in the village at the tip of the cape. And when had she come to this island, whose shore looks so close from the village? One day Sensei’s wife and her last lover came over, and she was struck by a car, rarely seen on the island, and she died.

  “She lived quite a bohemian life,” Sensei said with a grave look as he concluded the story about his wife’s past.

  “Indeed.”

  “And what’s more, a singular life.”

  “Indeed.”

  “All that to be hit by a car on this sleepy little island,” Sensei said feelingly, and then gave a little laugh. I turned to face the grave, clasped my hands lightly, then looked up at Sensei. He was still smiling as he looked down at me.

  “I thought we should come here together, Tsukiko,” Sensei said softly.

  “Together?”

  “Yes, it had been a while since I’d visited.”

  A flock of seagulls hovered above the cemetery, their cries raising a commotion. I tried to ask, Why would you think to bring me here? But the seagulls were wild with excit
ement. My words were drowned out by their cries and Sensei didn’t hear me.

  “I’ve never understood . . . ,” Sensei murmured, gazing up at the seagulls in the sky. “It seems that, even now, I still dwell on my wife.”

  The words “even now” reached me between the seagulls’ cries. Even now. Even now. Did you bring me all the way to this desolate island just to tell me that? I screamed in my head. But, of course, I didn’t say this either. I stared at Sensei. He wore a soft smile. What the hell was he smiling so blithely about?

  “I’m going back to the guesthouse,” I said finally, turning my back on Sensei.

  Tsukiko, I thought I heard him call out after me, but I might have been imagining it. I followed along the path from the cemetery to the marsh at a trot, passing through the hamlet and down the hill. I kept turning around but Sensei wasn’t following me. I thought I heard his voice call out my name again.

  Sensei, I called back. The seagulls wouldn’t shut up. I waited a moment, but I didn’t hear Sensei’s voice again. Apparently, he wasn’t coming after me. Was he sitting alone in the cemetery, praying? Feelingly? About his wife that he still dwells on? His dead wife?

  Old bastard, I said to myself, and then I repeated it out loud. “Old bastard!” The old bastard must be taking a brisk walk around the island. I should just forget about him and go soak in the little outdoor hot spring at the guesthouse. Since I ’m here on this island anyway. I ’m going to enjoy myself on this trip whether Sensei is with me or not. I’ve managed on my own until now anyhow. I drink by myself, I get drunk by myself, and I have a good time by myself, don’t I?

  I made my way down the hill with determination. The setting sun was still hovering over the water, about to disappear. The loud pattering of my sandals annoyed me. The seagulls’ cries that filled the entire island were relentless. The new dress that I had worn especially for this trip was uncomfortable around my waist. The too-big sandals had made my insteps hurt. The road and the beach without a soul to be seen were lonesome. And Sensei—damn him for not coming after me—had pissed me off.